Dystopic
by killmeplx
Summary: The world is a terrible place. With Empires ruling ruthlessly, without any regards for the weak, wars and plagues as common as insects, Morals have no place. Only one thing is for certain, it is the survival of the fittest. Major AU. Pairings later on.


**Dystopic  
** **By : Adele F. Elderidge**  
 **Chapter 1**

Everything Breaks

* * *

 _A dystopia is a society that is undesirable or frightening. It is literally translated as "not-good place", an antonym of utopia._

* * *

The only sound in the bleak room was that of Ivan's breathing and the heart monitor's rhythmic beep. Katyusha watched him like a hawk. His chest moved up and down, and that was all they needed. A nostalgic, motherly feeling surged through her. He looked-no, he was, so weak, so vulnerable, like the child he once was but that was centuries ago. Whereas, decade before, he used to be so strong.

"Oh brother," the Ukrainian whispered tenderly and brushed his almost platinum bangs from his face.

"How is he?" a smooth, practically emotionless voice asked but Ukraine knew her sister well and could see she was only barely masking her concern.

"Natalya," Katyusha stood up, worry evident on her face." _Well?"_ Belarus's tone was clipped and even her cerulean eyes betrayed sighed, "He's breathing."

Belarus moved from her place in the doorway to be closer, her dress swishing slightly. With a hint of melancholy, her eyes coned her brother's defeated form. She wanted to reach out too, to make sure he was there, alive, _breathing_ , just as Ukraine, had but pulled away before contact.

Ukraine watched her sister's actions in silence. Tears threatened to seep out but Katyusha wouldn't allow it. At the very least, she couldn't cry.' _Even your younger siblings act stronger'_

Disheartened, Belarus turned her gaze to Katyusha."And you?" Ukraine was snapped out of her daze,"huh?"

"How are you feeling?"

Ukraine gave her a wry smile, "As well as always."

"I see," this time round, Natalya's voice was filled, if only slightly, with sympathy.

"Enough of that, though," the buxom girl waved her hand for effect but stopped to bite her lower lip, "What about _your_ country, Natalya?"

"What about it?"Natalya visibly stiffened.

"Natalya, sister," the oldest moved to be closer to her, her words were soft, careful, "I've heard…rumors."

The petite girl's eyes flashed dangerously, "what kind of rumors?"She demanded, aggressive.

"People have been talking."

"They always do, but, go on."

Ukraine dithered, "they're…. unpleasant. Your economy i-is weakening and-and your president."

"I have one of the best militaries in the world," Belarus broke out suddenly, "My people are doing well and, even if our economy is a bit slow right now, _it doesn't mean anything_. It was a harsh winter and _all of us_ are reeling and even then I- "The girl's ran was cut short by a knock on the door.

"Miss Belarus?"A voice called.

The blonde nation fixed her composure before answering back coolly, "Speak."

"Mr. President would like a word with you."

"Understood. I'll be there as soon as I can."

Ukraine looked at her sister, her eyes expressing her unsaid words. Belarus could only look away.

"I'll be back soon. Keep an eye on Vanya."

And the girl disappeared outside the door.

Ukraine sighed. After all this time, nothing had changed. _She_ hadn't all this time, she was _still_ nothing more than a burden."If only…" But stopped. Wishing didn't and would never change anything.

Outside the room, Belarus leaned against the door. There was no one in sight so she allowed herself this small sanctuary of a moment's vulnerability,

It was all too much and at the same time…

 _'It wasn't nearly enough.'_

Vanya was as ill as ever and Katyusha's poor health would worsen if nothing nothing she did seemed to help.

And she, herself, was weakening, too. She could feel it. The energy slowly but surely being sapped from her, her nation, her people.

"But I can't give up. Everyone's counting on me." She reminded herself, and the moment was gone.  
Her walls went up and Belarus was strong again.

Without another second's hesitation, she walked to her boss' office.

As she did so, she noticed, with a slight glee, that people still that people continued to cower in her was Belarus, menacing and regal, known worldwide for her deadly strength.

She opened her president's door with an elegant twist of her wrist and waltzed in,"you called?"

"I did, Natalya," a man, President Gretzky, sitting at the desk said.

The girl raised a slender eyebrow, "And?"

"Natalya, I assume you've felt the recent drop in our country."

"I have," Natalya stood undeterred."What of it?"

"Our country has been growing worse and worse, and yet we continue to extend a very generous hand to our….. _less fortunate_ sibling countries."

Natalya's heart was a wild, angry bull against her chest. With every collision she could feel the vibrations.

 _Ba-dump Ba-dump_

 _'No emotions. Reaction shows weakness'_

But this was… _this was_ …and if they stopped sending help, Ivan and Katyusha would be….

"The point," Her voice was smooth, a Belorussian knife cutting the air.

"The point _is_ ," Her boss was getting impatient, "we can no longer afford to do so."

"No," Natalya was shaking inside, "No, you can't."

"There's simply nothing else that can be done."

The girl slammed her hands onto the desk. "There has to be _something_." Her voice was breaking. Desperation creeping in like a spider, " _Anything_."

A small, defeated, ironic smile spread across her boss' face, "There is _one thing_ but you're not going to like it."

* * *

The room where Roderich Edelstein practiced his music in was pristine. It had to be, simply put. Roderich was a perfectionist, thus any and all imperfections would distract him, hindering him from his music, which, in his opinion was perfection.

The windows were open with translucent white curtains drawn to give _just the right amount_ of sunlight, while adding, an almost ethereal appeal. A stately looking bookshelf stood, holding a sophisticated selection; mostly of the musical variety but Austria did love his poetry. The floor was wooden, and newly polished paintings hung on the walls, one of the sea, and the other two, abstract.

Everything was right, Austria took a deep breath, revealing, before stretching his fingers and hovering them over the piano keys.

He lowered one down half a centimeter, _just a little more_ and the contact would create the glorious sound and then, _finally_ , he would be able to f-

The sound of a shattering vase broke his train of thought and his finger jerked down, startled, pressing down on the key. A shrill sound filled the room and Austria winced.

Then he narrowed his eyes. The sound of something braking was, unfortunately, all too familiar.  
 _'Romano'_

Annoyed, the Austrian stormed out of the sight before him was not amusing.

"You broke _another_ vase."Austria's aggravated voice startled the guilty party who was busy hiding the evidence. The Italians anxious expression melted into a scowl.

"Oh, it's _you"_

"Yes, it's _me"_ The Austrian drawled, copying Romano's emphasis.

"It wasn't _my fault_ ," Romano defended after noticing the other's glare, "it was the squirrels, and-And, that vase was _old_ anyways-"

"That's what _antique_ means," he interjected, then sighed, "Never mind. Have you seen North Italy?"

Romano snorted, "Hell no. He's been slacking off even more than usual, leaving to playing in the fields - like the homo fairy he is, leaving _me to do all the work_."

Roderich ignored Romano's complaint, "If you see him again, tell him I need to have a word with him"

Romano opened his mouth to complain again but stopped and looked thoughtful. "Someone from your government came looking for you."

Austria's eyes widened and his heart skipped a beat. He'd been afraid of this. "What did they say?"

Romano's petulant scowl returned, "How the hell should I know!"

"They must have said _something_ ," he stressed, trying his best not to show how flustered he really was.

 _Nations really were too prideful._

"Something about your war with Hungary," Romano's brow furrowed, "And…"

"And?" Austria prodded, impatient. The war news was expected, regular, even. He had the upper hand, though, if only slightly, against the female country.

"I'm thinking," Romano snapped, "It was about another country."

"Who was?"

"I can't remember. I think his name started with a 's'"

"Well, _that helps_ ," was Austria's bitingly sarcastic reply.

"It isn't my fault," Romano found himself repeating words, "How was I supposed to know I was supposed to remember."

Austria's anger had been rising since the beginning, coupling that with bad news, and he erupted."You're useless." He was just spiteful, "Even you're dumbass brother could've remembered more." Romano remained silent.

Satisfied, Austria left with an air of arrogance. After the door closed, though, he deflated war was the last thing he wanted to be reminded of. Despite the fact it was going well so far, the fact remained; war was war. Death, poverty, disease. He could feel it _devouring_ him.

\  
He moved to the piano, his steps sluggish, heavy because of the burdens that weighed down in his shoulders. He sat down with a plop. His usual grace had disappeared with his mood.

The other news; about the country with an "s", didn't sound particularly pleasing either.

There were only two note-worthy countries in Europe that could be cause of this, and everyone knew about Switzerland's position (Austria gave no indication of his emotions towards his "old acquaintance's" position), so that left one. His relation with Spain was strained enough as it was. One touch could tip the balance the wrong way. And the results _would not_ be in Austria's favor.

Hungry was already a formidable enough opponent as it was and a war with Spain-

Austria shuddered.

It would _destroy him_.

Austria Roderich Edelstein would disappear, the nation, the man. And what would become of his people? Would they become slaves to the victors?

No.

 _No_ , he would not let that happen. Austria could not. He would emerge victorious against Hungry and he would appease Spain.

By whatever means necessary.

With a new found vigor, Austria played his piano. He let the feeling flow through. His fingers glided across the keys, passionate, a message. The melody was powerful, like Austria would be, like Austria was.

 _Austria played the piano, and this time he didn't do it to forget.  
_

* * *

England looked at the sky.

The day was grey; not dark and stormy nor happy and sunny. It wasn't that peaceful, serene grey that was always accompanied by a very lazy buzz, it was just _grey_. A devoid of color, of emotion.

 _'Obsolete_ ' he decided.

Or maybe that was just his view on life, bitter and cynical.

But given the circumstances...

 _Could they resent him for what he was?_

England repressed a sigh. Why was it that every time he turned philosophical it was turned depressing?

His mood was worse than the weather.

He wasn't angry or particularly frustrated at the moment, he just felt…

 _Empty._

"Sir, I have some bad news for you."

A vein nearly popped. 'Bloody hell'Couldn't they allow him to drown in his self pity in peace?

"What is it?" he asked, impatient. His eyes didn't leave the sky, they caught the sight of a lone eagle and, for some reason, he felt intrigued.

"There's, um, there's quite a bit of information… perhaps you should sit down?"

"Spit it out, man" His gaze continued to trace the bird. It seemed almost lonely…but, no, that wasn't it.

The messenger decided to rip of the bandage once and for all. "Mr. Jones would like to speak with you." Or not. England scoffed, "That's not exactly news" Brothers were such nuisances.

The bird, on the other hand, was simply magnificent, regal even. It swooped daringly and England felt a pang of admiration.

"There's more," the messenger was slowly gaining confidence, "France has declared war."

England hummed in acknowledgement. While unpleasant, the act wasn't entirely unexpected. England had been stocking up for another war for a while now.

"Is that it?" England would have liked to continue his bird watching _alone._

The Eagle flew out of sight for a second so England leaned forward slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of it for his spot on the terrace. In vain, it seemed. The Eagle flew back as quickly as it had left.

"No." There was a silence when there should have been words.

England was getting annoyed. 'Restraint' he reminded himself and didn't lash out. He was a gentleman after all."Well?"

"Scotland is dead."

The bird dropped out of the sky.

 _Brothers really were such nuisances.  
_

* * *

Lichtenstein starred at the patchwork intently. Her tongue stuck out in concentration. Her inexperienced, untainted fingers moved the needle, in and out and in and over that and-

Ouch.

A bright red spot glowed where the needle had pricked her pouted. She thought she had been getting good at this. With a sigh, Lichtenstein looked around the garden, endeavoring to cheer herself up. It was really nice weather. Moderately sunny with cotton candy like clouds and the gentle caress of a slight breeze. Birds sang and the leaves rustled. The flowers even seemed to glow brighter; vibrant.

Maybe it was just her positive perception, but life just seemed _perfect_.

 _'I wish everyone could feel this.'_

Feeling motivated and more energetic, Lily continued her sewing work, humming a tune all the while.

The small patch of pale pink cloth in her dainty hands wasn't particularly well made, despite the girl's best wasn't the best at this, sewing, but she felt she needed to do _something_ productive, so she persevered and, one of these days, she would-

Lily giggled, flushing slightly.

But _honestly._ She couldn't do that until she _finished_ and would only _finish_ if she got _better_ and, if she wanted to get better, she'd have to stop **procrastinating.** And Lily continued her work **.**

After another hour or so of sewing, Lily heard a very familiar _thunk_ that made her jump. That was the door closing and Lichtenstein knew exactly who it was.

 _"Brother"_

She ran eagerly through the halls with a chant like a mantra resounding in her head. _"Brother's back! Brother's back! Brothe-"_

Lily stopped short from shock when her eyes met the sight in front of her.

There was Vash Zingwili, Switzerland, her brother, her caretaker, her protector, half crumpled and leaning against the wall barely sit up.

"Brother!" she cried, _aloud_ this time, and more desperate than anything. She scurried to help him up and gasped when she saw the trickle of _RED_ at the corner of his mouth.

Switzerland winced when he heard her and tried to push her away because she just could not see him _like this._  
The attempt was feeble and Lily didn't even notice. She was too preoccupied with the _red._ "You're bleeding," she pointed out helplessly. ' _What should I do? What should I do? What should I-'_

Mustering all the strength he could, the Switz man shoved her off him. Damn. The _pain._ He clutched his arm protectively and braced himself back against the wall.

"You're bleeding," She repeated. Her mind couldn't get around the fact. This was _Brother._

 _"I'm fine_ ," he all but snarled.

"But-"she protested. He needed help. He needed _her_ help.

"I'm fine," he interrupted, calmer, "I just fell."

She protested again. There was more than that. There had to be. She knew it.

"No." he said firmly but then his shoulders slumped, defeated, "Help me to my room."

Lichtenstein did so but the question remained, evident in her eyes, as she helped him to bed. "Do you need anything else?" she asked once her hands were free. "A first aid kit? Or we could call a medic-"

"I'm fine." He said **_again_** and gave her such a sad smile. The expression looked so wrong on her brother's face."I'm fine." And she wondered whether he was trying to convince her or himself.

* * *

The attendant shivered. Right in front of him, behind the intricate closed doors, was Prussia freaking Gilbert Belldischmidt. The guy was a freaking psychopath. God, if those rumors were true…

"I'm a dead man."

After a few more minutes of conflicting worry and terror, he managed a few timid knocks.

"Get your ass in here." A coarse cackle sounded through the door.

'Keep calm,' the man told himself, 'he can smell fear'

He pushed the door open the _tiniest bit_ and winced at the slight creak it made. The point was to be noticed as little as possible. To them, he was nothing more than another parasite, just waiting to be squished.

 _"Well?"_ the voice was mocking, "are you waiting for an invitation?"

The man stepped through the door and considered asking forgiveness for his insolence but decided it was better to cause as less disruption as possible. His eyes darted nervously to anything but the sight before him. The minutes stretched for miles and a sweat broke out on his forehead.

"Bring me a beer," Prussia ordered quietly, practically ominous.

The attendant paused for a moment, unsure and stunned by the soft a moment was more than enough reason for Prussia.

" **NOW**." He barked.

The poor man scuttled out of the room as quietly as he could, running away from the mad laughter, praying fervently all the while.

Francis sighed at his howling friend, "You should really stop scaring away all your servants." He reprimanded but amusement was evident on his face despite his words.

Prussia grinned wolfishly at him once his maniac laughter had faded, "But humans are such easy prey." And took a greedy gulp of his beer.

His friend only shock his head in disgust, "All that alcohol is going to have its consequences, mon ami."  
"Like you should talk," Gilbert shot back pointing dramatically at the Frenchman's own half-empty glass of wine.

"But you're drinking _beer_."

"Awesome _Prussian_ _brewed_ beer."

"My point exactly," Haughty chuckles arose from the Francis, "We Frenchman, on the other hand, have great class when it comes to alcoholic beverages, or, anything in general really."

Snorting, Gilbert replied, "You're all bunch of gay bastards"

"That's not necessarily a bad thing," He winked, flirty.

The conversation paused to allow both men a large sip of their respective drinks. They grew serious after another silent moment. There were more important matters to discuss. Arguments about one's own countries were common, they were always biased and would never end unless both parties _stopped together_. Not surrendering, never surrendering, but an unvoiced truce.

"I heard you invaded Scotland." Prussia, acting far more sober, stated.

"I did," Francis starred in front, his eyes intense, focused, but they weren't concentrating on the wall.

Prussia nodded in understanding, perhaps too much understanding. How long ago had he, himself, been in that position? "Brittan must be pissed."

"He will be," the glass rolled lazily in between his fingers, clinking, "that's why I declared war on him _first_."

After grunting at the news, Prussia found himself looking away, "You must be feeling pretty conflicted, am I right?"

"Not really," Francis' casual, almost apathetic tone held something Gilbert couldn't place, something he wasn't sure he wanted to, "It was inevitable. After Monaco and Seychelles, this was my only option. What happened before-"

"I know."

"It's in the past," Francis finished. And that was all there was to it. Nothing more.

Right?

"Spain certainly seems busy," Francis said whimsically, trying to change the atmosphere.

"Don't say that douche's name" Prussia was mock solemn. Francis turned to him quizzically."Hm?"

"He spends more time with his fuckin' empire than he does with us."

"That _is_ true, I suppose."Francis had the most wistful smile. "but then again, even you and I haven't gotten together that often. This is the first one in a while, actually."

Prussia smirked, "The problem's with having a empire."

"But it is worth it, _oui_?" "Totally."

Another pause. The air wasn't exactly but it wasn't downright dreary either. It was … comfortable.

"So," Francis began again, "I hear Spain might invade Austria sometime soon."

"Maybe," Prussia glanced at his friend, "If he does, that prick doesn't stand a chance. He's already at war with Hungary."

"You going to intervene?"

Prussia shrugged noncommittally, "I might. An envoy from Hungary is coming over to discuss a proposition."

Francis' lips spread into a lewd, suggestive grin. He got smacked upside the head.

"It's not like that."Prussia fumed red in the face. Honestly…

France opened his mouth to speak but was cut off. "It's like you said, the past is in the past."

The Frenchman let out a sigh, "Indeed."

Prussia held out his beer, "Cheers."

A small smile flitted across France's face as he raised his own wine glass, "Cheers." The glasses clinked against each other.

"To being a country."

And they drank

* * *

The room where he sat smelt strongly of rotting flesh, Norway noticed with a grimace. The walls were covered in spots of dust, mold, grime and other things Lukas would rather not think about. It was little bigger than a closet and the only light streamed from a 4 by 3 inch window.

With a substantial amount of effort, the country managed to crack an eye open. It stayed on that sliver of light which lit the otherwise pitch black room. The window was barred.

And meant more than security measure, Norway knew.

No one would fit through that. And, if by some miracle they managed to do so. they would have a _very, very_ long jump.

It symbolized that for the prisoner's , who, in this case Norway supposed he was, that they were trapped, shut in the darkness, no chance of reaching out to the sunlight, happiness. There was no point in thinking otherwise.

"They're sadists." Norway thought mildly.

But Norway could and would interpret it differently.

His hand stretched out weakly to touch it. He didn't come into contact, but it was _just_ within reach.

He could probably do it, if he really wanted to it. But his fresh wounds, the cuts and bruises that littered his body, _burned_ while his old ones were resurfacing with a nostalgic sting. He needed to preserve his strengths.

 _He already knew he could reach the light._

So what would the point be?  
He could exercise his mental capabilities instead. He could try to get out of here. But how?

Besides the barred window there was a steel door with three different types of locks on it. Maybe he could ambush the guard when he came for him. If they came.

Lukas had no idea why they has taken him, beaten him or locked him up.  
Did it matter?

Sweden would be here soon for him anyways. Really all he needed to do was kill time. Norway sighed, restless.  
Another thing. Something was going on _inside_ Norway. He could feel it.

He couldn't place what exactly it was. Not that he's had much experience for the most part. Sweden had always managed to keep things more than afloat for Norway.

It felt like a buzzing, tingling sensation, and it would occur randomly, varying in intensity. Sometimes it more than crossed the point of pain.

It would work out though, he was sure, Sweden would rescue him and they'd get this sorted out together.

Anyways this would give him more time to think of ways of getting back on those miscreant elves.

* * *

 **A/N: Hello people of . My name is Adel and this is my story. Obvious crap aside- I'll bet you are all pretty confused right now.**  
 **So I'll explain.**  
 **This is a "Major AU" ,as in it takes place in a different place from Canon. While the characters are still all countries, they, for the most part, have different relations and strengths.**

 **Feedback of any type is greatly appreciated. :)**

 **EDIT; I changed to format, fixed some typos and deleted the unnecessary explanation. Hopefully it will be easier to read now.**


End file.
